Nor was this all.  Camilla was surely dead.  But supposing that by some incredible chance she was not dead (lo! the human heart), could he kill Ravengar?  This question had presented itself to him as he sat in the dome listening to Ravengar’s asseverations that Camilla lived.  And the mere ridiculous, groundless suspicion that she lived, the mere fanciful dream that she lived, had quite changed and softened Hugo’s mood.  He had struggled hard to keep his resolution to kill Ravengar, but it had melted away; he had fanned the fire of his mortal hatred, but it had cooled, and at length he had admitted to himself, angrily, reluctantly, that Ravengar had escaped the ordeal of the vault.  And this being decided, what could he do with Ravengar?  Retain him under lock and key?  Why?  To what end?  Such illegal captivities were not practicable for long in London.  Besides, they were absurd, melodramatic, and futile.  As the moments passed and the fumes of a murderous intoxication gradually cleared away, Hugo had regained his natural, sagacious perspective, and he had perceived that there was only one thing to do with Ravengar.

He let Ravengar go.  He showed him politely out.

It was an anti-climax, but the incalculable and peremptory processes of the heart often result in an anti-climax.

The night was cold and damp, as the morning had been, and Hugo shivered, but not with cold.  He shivered in the mere exciting eagerness of anticipation.  He had chosen the drawing-room window because the panes were very large.  He found it perfectly simple, by means of the treacled cardboard which he carried, to force in the pane noiselessly.  He pushed aside the blind, and crept within the room.  So simple was it to violate the will of a dead man, and the solemnly affixed seals of his executor!  He had arranged that the pane should be replaced before dawn, and the new putty darkened to match the rest.  Thus, no trace would remain of the burglarious entry.  No seal on door or window would have been broken.

He stood upright in the drawing-room, restored the blind and the heavy curtains to their positions, and then ventured to press the button of his lamp.  He saw once more the vast outlines of the room which he had last seen under such circumstances of woe.  The great pieces of furniture were enveloped in holland covers, and resembled formless ghosts in the pale illumination of the lamp.  He shivered again.  He was afraid now, with the fear of the unknown, the forbidden, and the withheld.  Why was he there?  What could he hope to discover?

In answer to these questions, he replied: 

’Why did Francis Tudor order that the flat should be closed?  He must have had some reason.  I will find it out.  It is essential to my peace of mind to know.  I meant to commit murder to-day; I have only committed burglary.  I ought to congratulate myself and sing for joy, instead of feeling afraid.’